


that winter you left me snow-blind

by echoes_of_realities



Series: time passes, in love and in seasons [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: (Though the next part won't be lol), Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, Winter, let me tell you figuring out christmas gifts was the hardest part tbh, warning for Santana and Brittany dealing with some homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: Winter comes and goes in the quiet moments. It comes and goes in the quiet moments of time passing between snowfalls and mistletoe kisses, where they can finally stop holding their breaths and instead bask in the warmth of acceptance despite the winter wind. It comes and goes like lazy Sunday mornings where the alarm clock is a cold nose against skin as snow covers the town in a fresh beginning.It’s at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.It’s at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.





	that winter you left me snow-blind

**Author's Note:**

> I know, like, nothing about USA high schools and USA college applications since I’ve been graduated for a couple years and all knowledge of high school has since been replaced by literally anything else, and also I’m from Canada. And when I looked it up it was done after six days straight of work so it wasn’t very in depth lol.
> 
> Also, I started writing this mostly to be pure fluff with only a little bit of angst, and since this part does cover “On My Way,” I decided to focus on the deleted scene with the bridesmaids dresses and in my mind it’s set before all the other parts of the episode because I know there was a lot of controversy over Karofsky’s storyline and the ending with Quinn, so I just decided to leave all of that out.
> 
> Title and excerpts from “Weather Reports” by Shane Koyczan.

 

_“I still find it funny how when I love you can be reduced to a weather report._

_I sort through the memories of that day and I’m comforted by the fact that you used to say,_

_‘Affection is in the details’_

_So I said, ‘wear that toque,’ the one that doesn’t fit you quite right._

_The one that makes you look like beauty is something you can put aside for a moment that lasts just long enough._

_It lets you handcuff your makeup to the bathroom mirror, lets you leave your eyeshadow behind._

_Lets you find your way back to me because today I need you quicker than lipstick will allow._

_I need you like this second is going to run out any minute and it’s already starting to feel like half past now.”_

 

* * *

 

Winter is the bitter cold and dark evenings that are broken only by learning how to keep each other warm with their love, and it’s the hint of hot chocolate and candy canes in mistletoe kisses. It’s the red and green and gold decorations across the town that are the only spots of colour in the white snow and grey sky, and it’s waking up to cold noses pressed to bed-warm skin from the frigid night and knowing that the only thing keeping you warm is your love. It’s fresh beginnings and somehow familiar mysteries in the weak sunlight that tries it’s hardest to melt all the cold hearts of winter, and it’s the softest moments in between all the stress and fast moving world. It’s the bright joy of the holidays and the unforgiving unfairness of the frozen town, and it’s as bittersweet and bright as giving someone the sun and the moon and the stars, so close and yet still so far away.

Winter is the time when they finally let out a sigh of relief, and when they don’t have to be anyone but them outside of their houses for the first time. Winter is the time when they feel the warmth of acceptance for the first time. Winter is the time for laughter and joy to chase the cold from their hearts and it’s the first time they don’t feel that choking fear they’re used to because in it’s place is the other’s smile and bright eyes.

It’s at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.

 

* * *

 

“I’m thirsty,” Santana announces loudly.

Brittany smirks and waggles her eyebrows at her girlfriend, bouncing up on her knees and looming over Santana. 

Santana giggles and shoves Brittany’s face away from hers. “Not like that, you dork. For _water_.”

Brittany pouts and collapses on top of Santana, sprawling over her girlfriend so she’s wrapped around her, their legs tangled hopelessly together and bodies pressed so close there’s no space between them. She nuzzles into Santana’s neck and gives the skin against her lips a warning nip. “You mean you don’t want this?”

Santana sucks in a sharp breath. “I always want you, Britt,” she breathes, and then shakes her head to try and clear her distraction as Brittany rolls a little to the side so she can free her hands and let her hands wander Santana’s hips, her fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt (which is actually Brittany’s shirt, and that thought sends a tiny thrill through Brittany). “But not when my mom’s upstairs,” Santana continues after long moments of trying to breath normally.

“Never stopped us before,” Brittany rasps directly into Santana’s ear, delighting in the shudder that runs through her girlfriend.

“That was before—” Santana’s breath hitches when Brittany licks at the skin behind her ear. “Before she knew about us.”

“Mmm,” Brittany agrees against Santana’s skin, mouthing along the arch of her neck and landing on her collarbone.

“Besides,” Santana breathes, her fingers tightening in Brittany’s shirt, twisting the fabric, “she’ll be leaving for work in, like, fifteen minutes and then— Then we don’t have to worry about it.”

Brittany trails her mouth back up Santana’s neck towards her jawline, leaving wet kisses in her wake. She sucks gently at a fading bruise from days ago, one that had reappeared after Santana washed her face free of makeup a couple hours ago, before the start of their lazy movie night, before kissing a path to Santana’s lips, breathing her “Fine” hotly into the mouth under hers and chasing it with her tongue.

When she finally pulls back, Santana looks breathless and dreamy. Brittany smirks down at Santana, her grin widening when Santana blinks rapidly and shakes her head a little. She pouts up at Brittany. “Just for that, you get to go on the water run.”

Brittany’s grin softens at her adorable girlfriend, dark curls spread across the pillow, eyes deep and open and content, lips swollen from an evening of kisses, dimples creasing full cheeks; it’s really not her fault that she has to kiss Santana again. “Do you want ice?” she asks when she pulls back.

Santana’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh no, Britt, it’s fine, I’ll go get it.”

Brittany silences her with a long kiss and jumps up off the bed before Santana can respond or untangle herself from the blanket wrapped around her legs, grabbing the two empty glasses from the bedside table. Santana collapses back with a dramatic sigh and squints at Brittany. “Ice, please,” she says. Brittany gives her a deep bow, arms spread wide, before grinning and skipping out the door, Santana’s giggles following her into the rest of the basement and up the stairs.

Brittany can hear Santana’s mom from the stairwell and she pauses in the doorway, halfway in the stairwell and halfway in the hallway. Brittany can’t quite hear what Maribel is saying from where she’s standing, but her voice is low and almost dangerous as it echoes and distorts down the hallway. Brittany moves forward slightly until she’s fully in the hallway, straining to hear Maribel’s voice and remain hidden because whatever is going on Brittany really doesn’t want to interrupt. Maribel is on the phone, pacing in the dimly lit kitchen. The light above the kitchen sink casts the room in a warm glow; the kitchen’s just down the hall from the basement doorway and Maribel disappears from Brittany’s view every couple of steps. She’s got her phone clutched tight against the side of her head, her shoulders tense, exactly like Santana when she talks to her father or that one awful uncle of hers. 

“Julio, I could not care less that you don’t approve,” Maribel’s voice is sharp and acid, harsher than Brittany’s ever heard her in almost thirteen years, “Yes, she is gay, and no, it was nothing _I_ did wrong. Even if you had fought for custody and raised her instead of me she would still be gay. It has nothing to do with either of us.”

Brittany’s insides churn and she gulps a deep breath, pressing herself against the hallway wall; her knuckles are white where she’s clutching the glasses in her hands. She’s not really sure what she feels right now, but she knows that she _really_ hates whatever it is. It’s almost the same twisting feeling she got when she heard Josh Coleman sneering at Santana by their lockers all those weeks ago, or when she felt the leering gaze of some of the football team on the back of her head when Santana linked their hands in the hallway, or the wary looks of some of the Cheerios in the change room before practice, but somehow the twisting feeling now is so much worse. 

Maribel stops talking for a long moment, and when she speaks again it’s with a low, burning anger that reminds Brittany of the time a senior made fun of her back in freshmen year; it was how Santana first earned her reputation of being a bitch, and it was how McKinley first learned that nobody messed with Brittany unless they wanted to get on Santana’s bad side. 

“Yes, Brittany is still allowed over,” Maribel hisses. Something thick tickles along Brittany’s throat until it feels a lot like she’s choking. “Why wouldn’t I let my daughter’s girlfriend spend time with her? I don’t fucking care about what you think is _proper,_ I will do whatever I want in _my_ house. Brittany makes her happy so of course she’s allowed over.” There’s another drawn out pause. Brittany shifts a little, trying to quietly shake feeling back into her legs because they seem to have gone numb. She never realized how loud silence could be until this very moment. 

“Yeah, well she may be your daughter but right now you’re not acting like her father.” There’s a weird shuffling sound as Maribel stops talking suddenly. She’s scowling when she comes back into view, her phone still clutched in her hand but no longer pressed to her ear. She stops at the island and sighs deeply, running her free hand over her face, elbows perched near the edge of the counter and head hanging low. Brittany tries to keep her breathing silent as she starts to sneak back through the basement doorway to escape back to Santana’s room, but her knee bumps against the wall and sends a soft echoing boom along the hallway and makes picture frames rattle gently.

“Brittany?” Maribel asks in surprise, her head shooting up. “How long were you standing there?”

“Um,” Brittany says, shifting back and forth on her feet as she turns to squint down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Not long,” she finally manages, but they both know how awful she is at lying.

Maribel sighs and sets her phone on the counter before gesturing for Brittany to join her at the kitchen island. Brittany hesitates but warily walks down the hall towards her. She sets the glasses on the counter and leans against it. Maribel looks tired, the kind of bone-tired that can’t be solved by sleep. She can see the ghost of junior-year-Santana in her dark eyes and tight smile, the twisting hands and clenched jaw.

Brittany shifts her weight back and forth before kicking one leg behind her other. “That was Dr. Lopez?” she finally asks.

Maribel sighs and presses the thumb and forefinger of her left hand against her eyes before she nods.

“Santana said he didn’t— When she told him about— That he was—”

Maribel drops her hand from her eyes and gives Brittany a small smile. She straightens and rounds the island and pulls Brittany into a hug. Brittany sighs and relaxes into Maribel, sinking into her embrace and bending down to bury her face in Maribel’s shoulder; she’s known it since she was five years old, but she still marvels at the fact that Maribel gives hugs as comforting as her own mom and dad’s and as fiercely loving as Santana’s. “I’m just glad you love Santana so well,” Maribel whispers against Brittany’s hair.

Brittany swallows thickly and focuses on how her heart pounds against her sternum. “She makes loving really easy,” Brittany says honestly.

Maribel pulls back, her hands on Brittany’s shoulders, her chin jutting forward slightly to look up at Brittany. “Santana’s father is,” she hesitates for a long moment before continuing, “stuck in his ways. He’s his mother’s son, as is his brother, and I don’t know if they will ever fully come around; and even if they do, they’ve hurt Santana so much already,” she trails off, blinking rapidly. Brittany tactfully doesn’t mention the wetness shining in Maribel’s eyes. “I hope they do though, for Santana’s sake, but if they don’t, how about you and I make a deal?”

Brittany smiles a little and inclines her head in acknowledgement, having a faint idea that she’s going to like this deal. 

“If they don’t come around,” Maribel proposes, “and even in the case that they do, how about you and I love Santana enough for all of them.”

Brittany’s smile widens and she nods eagerly. “I think that’s, like, the best plan ever,” she agrees.

Maribel smiles and pulls back from Brittany, subtlety catching a tear with the side of her finger as she turns away. “Perfect. Now, I have to get to work, did you come to refill your water?” Brittany nods and moves to grab the glasses off the island but stops when Maribel waves her off. “Do you girls need more snacks?” Brittany shakes her head, thinking of the half-finished bowl of popcorn sitting on the floor beside Santana’s bed and the unopened bag of M &M’s that probably got shoved under the pillows when they forgot about the movie on her laptop and started kissing instead.

She runs her hand over the edge of the counter, digging the nail of her thumb into the nicks there from even before Maribel and Santana moved in as she waits for Maribel to fill their glasses with ice and water. “Thanks,” she murmurs as Maribel passes them to her.

“Anytime, Brittany,” she replies, and the way dark eyes bore into blue makes Brittany think she doesn’t just mean the glasses of water. 

“Have a good night at work,” Brittany says with a small smile. 

“Thanks,” Maribel offers gratefully, “Tell Santana goodbye and I love her for me.”

“I will. Bye, Maribel,” Brittany says as she lifts a glass of water in a wave, walking quickly back down the stairs to allow Maribel a couple moments to compose herself before she heads to the hospital.

As she descends she can hear the faint sounds of Santana singing drifting through the basement. Brittany pauses at the bottom of the stairs and smiles, tiptoeing towards Santana’s room, the door slightly ajar. She sets the glasses down on the floor beside the doorway before leaning close to it and peaking through the crack. She can just see Santana standing in front of her dresser, her head bobbing as she sings under her breath, snippets of an old song Brittany knows her mom used to sing when both Lopez women were younger and more untroubled.

“ _Where is the reason? Don’t blame it on me, blame it on my wild heart._ ” She’s fiddling with something on her dresser, fingers delicately tracing something in her hand that Brittany can’t see from this angle, her voice rasping over the words of the song, raw and quiet and powerful in a way that makes Brittany’s soul tremble no matter how many times she’s heard it. Brittany slowly pushes the door open, creeping into the bedroom lit by the golden light of Santana’s bedside lamp. “ _As to the seasons, you fought from the beginning, long before I knew it._ ” She’s almost at Santana now, though she still can’t see what Santana is so carefully looking at. “ _There was danger. And the danger was to fall in love—_ Ah!” 

Brittany giggles into Santana’s ear, her arms snaking around Santana’s waist as her girlfriend jumps and screams in surprise. Whatever was in Santana’s hands — a jewellery box, Brittany realizes now — is slammed shut and thrown onto the dresser where it hits the mirror and falls between the wall and the back of the dresser. “Brittany!” Santana shrieks through her shocked laughter, “You’ve gotta stop that unless you really want to stop my heart.”

“I’m just making us even because my heart stops every time you look at me,” Brittany whispers against the shell of Santana’s ear.

“Britt-Britt,” Santana sighs dreamily, melting back into her girlfriend’s arms, “I love you.”

Brittany giggles and tightens her arms around Santana, nuzzling her face against Santana’s warm neck. “I love you too, San.” Santana tips her head to the side and presses back into Brittany, allowing her to settle comfortably against her girlfriend, the reflection of her smile wide and uninhibited in the mirror. “Now,” Brittany says slowly, drawing out the vowel and tugging on Santana’s stomach until she fits even more snugly into the curve of Brittany’s hips, “what were you looking at?”

Santana’s smile widens. “Nothing you have to worry about,” she promises, tickling her fingers along Brittany’s arms. 

Brittany settles her chin against Santana’s shoulder so she can pout at the other girl in the mirror. “C’mon, Santana,” she whines, “I wanna know.”

Santana laughs and turns her head so she can press a wet, smacking kiss against Brittany’s cheek, catching the corner of Brittany’s eye and making her giggle at the ticklish feeling of lips against her eyelashes. “You’ll find out soon, babe.”

Brittany tries to rearrange her face back into a pout but knows she fails miserably when Santana just continues to grin at her in the mirror. “Promise?”

Santana gently raps her fingers across Brittany’s arms once, twice, three times before spinning in them and throwing her arms over Brittany’s shoulders, pressing a series of quick kisses against thin lips and a lightly freckled chin. 

“I promise, Britt-Britt.”

 

* * *

 

December is white and pretty, long before the pristine snow turns to the grey and brown slush of spring; it’s coloured lights and bright wreaths, snow-globes and tinsel, it’s joyful laughter and rich wonder, it’s the hint of hot chocolate kisses under mistletoe and joking croons of old carols whispered against ears, and it’s the last month of the year, where kids start to dream of Santa Claus and adults start to dream of a fresh start. 

 

* * *

 

Santana would never admit it because she _does_ still have a reputation to maintain, but she really loves Christmas. Or, actually, she really loves the weeks leading up to Christmas. There’s just something soothing about the build up to Christmas, where everything is a little magical and excitement hangs over Lima, as heavy as the dark snow clouds gathering over the town.

It’s the sound of her mom humming Christmas songs in the kitchen as she bakes old family recipes from memory, the scent of cinnamon and ginger and sage and rosemary that fills the Pierce household and clings to Brittany’s Cheerios uniform, the dumb rotation of ugly sweaters that Sam goes through on the last week of school before break. It’s the old Christmas songs that play faintly over the speakers of the grocery store whenever Brittany and Santana make a movie-snack-trip, the sharp taste of candy canes against her lips when a giggling Brittany tugs her into the entryway of the kitchen and points up at the mistletoe dangling above them (as if she ever needs an excuse to kiss Brittany), the munchkin’s excited chattering about her letter to Santa and how much she would _really like a hot chocolate from the Lima Bean and I even have my own allowance money to pay if you guys take me_ _please and thank you ‘Tana._ She even likes the cheesy cycle of Christmas songs that the Glee kids sing through the entire month of December because she can unabashedly cuddle up to Brittany in the back or dance with her in front of the Christmas tree anytime she wants without any hint of the prickling shame and fear from the last couple years.

But the best part, the absolute _best_ part, of the weeks leading up to Christmas is definitely Brittany. Of course, Santana thinks Brittany is devastatingly beautiful and amazing year round, and her breath still catches every time those smiling blue eyes turn her way, but there’s just something about how excited Brittany gets for Christmas that makes Santana’s insides all gooey and melty. Sometimes if Santana stares hard enough into those blue eyes she thinks she can see the future spread out before them, a future of years and years and years of Christmases ahead of them to match the years and years of Christmases already behind them. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t been caught daydreaming during English of a day when they could curl up with some eggnog on their very own couch in front of their very own Christmas tree in their very own apartment.

(She would also be lying if she said she hadn’t daydreamed of a couple of blue-eyed bundles of excitement with dark hair tumbling over their shoulders as they danced around the Christmas tree hoping for Santa Claus to visit, but those are dreams for a different time because, after denying them for so long, it almost feels like too much to hope for.)

Of course, the worst part is that Brittany and her family are going to Santa Fe this year instead of her grandparents coming up like they usually do (something about her grandpa starting new medications and needing to stay close to his doctor, or at least that’s what Brittany said her mom said). Now, instead of looking forward to their first Christmas as a couple, Christmas for Santana will feel a little bit lonely since it will just be Santana and her mom and her mom’s favourite sister (who is, not un-coincidentally, also Santana’s favourite aunt). It’s not like it will be awful or anything, it’s just that usually Santana gets to spend Christmas Eve with Brittany and her family opening gifts and helping Pierce Pierce eat Santa’s cookies and drink his milk before she goes to midnight mass with her abuela and mess of cousins and aunts and uncles, and then she usually gets to spend the rest of Christmas Day with her mom and her favourite aunt and the rest of her father’s huge side of the family at abuela’s house eating and laughing. (Her father is rarely not scheduled to work on Christmas Eve and Day, but Santana’s pretty sure he just purposefully picks up shifts those days and, well, Santana tries to not speculate on why he elects not to spend Christmas with his only daughter every year because she’s trying her hardest to be more positive.)

Of course this year— 

Well, this year Santana is pretty positive that she’s no longer welcome at midnight mass, and even less so at her abuela’s house. But her mom got the lucky draw of her work scheduling this year and isn’t working Christmas at all, and her aunt always has really cool stories about her travels and even cooler presents; and, as an even better bonus, when she came out to her aunt a couple weeks ago her only response was _well, duh, tell me something I don’t know. Now let me tell you about these wild people I met last week._ (Her aunt’s not only her favourite aunt, but also a pretty cool person in general, to be completely honest.) 

And it’s because of all this, that she can’t quite control her pout when Brittany tells her that she’s leaving for Santa Fe on the twenty-second and won’t be back until the twenty-eighth. Santana’s pout is only rivalled by Brittany’s pout as she delivers the news, already feeling guilty for abandoning Santana during Christmas when she knows how hard it will be for her girlfriend.

Santana sighs dramatically and teasingly when she tells Brittany _It’s okay, really, Britt-Britt_ for about the fifth time since they found out last week and decided to exchange Christmas gifts on the twenty-first, after their last day of school and before Santana’s mom gets home from work that evening. Santana’s melodrama is treated to a fond eye roll and warm, candy cane flavoured kisses in apology. Santana’s hands slide across Brittany’s sides, her fingers just dipping under Brittany’s sweater, when the kettle starts screaming and Brittany regretfully pulls away to shut the stove off and save their ears.

Brittany always makes hot chocolate with the kettle instead of the Keruig because _it just tastes better that way, Santana, stop smiling at me like that, it’s true and you know it._ Santana smiles softly at Brittany’s back as she gets educated on the proper hot chocolate brewing etiquette; she’s positive if she weren’t already head over heels in love with Brittany she would definitely be falling deeply in love right now because it isn’t possible anyone’s ever looked more adorable than Brittany does right now, licking cinnamon speckled whipped cream off her top lip, as she turns and offers Santana a mug.

They take their mugs to the living room where their presents for each other are sitting temptingly on the coffee table. Brittany settles on one end of the couch and grins when Santana immediately sits right beside her and curls up against Brittany’s always warm body. Brittany hides her delighted grin with a sip of her hot chocolate as she wraps her arm around Santana and tugs her even closer as they start their last after school complaining about dumb high schoolers until the new year.

They’re done their hot chocolate and sitting crosslegged, their knees overlapping each other’s, by the time they get to complaining about the glee club. Santana never mentions it, because _reputation_ , but over the years her ridiculing has slowly turned into mostly fond teasing; Brittany never mentions it because Santana is actually really adorable when she pretends to be all tough and bitchy. 

“I still can’t believe you convinced them that you still believe in Santa last year,” Santana says with a dramatic eye roll.

Brittany turns wide, distressed eyes on her, her pretty pink lips parted in shock. “Wait, you mean he’s not real?”

Santana giggles and shoves at Brittany’s shoulder. “C’mon, you goofball,” she laughs.

Brittany maintains her façade for about five more seconds before she curls over in laughter, her face smooshed against Santana’s shaking thigh. “And they think I’m the dumb one,” she jokes into Santana’s lap. 

Santana runs her fingers through the blonde hair spread across her legs. “You’re a genius, Britt,” she says easily, like it’s one of those things that she’s always ready to say, like her name or that one plus one is two or the fact that she is hopelessly in love with one Brittany S. Pierce. Brittany grins and presses a kiss to Santana’s thigh. “An _evil_ genius,” Santana amends from above her.

Brittany giggles and presses another kiss to the thigh under her face before sitting up. “I’m pretty sure even the munchkin knows that Santa isn’t real because he’s actually about five-foot-five, and also Korean, and also our dad.”

“She just keeps pretending for the extra presents, right?”

Brittany runs her index finger down Santana’s nose before playfully tapping the tip. “Ye _p_ ,” she agrees, popping the _p_ , “I’m pretty sure she learned that trick from you.”

Santana smirks and tips her head back in pride. “That’s my girl.”

“Speaking of Santa Claus,” Brittany says, her eyes glowing as she glances slyly at Santana, taking her empty mug out of her hands and setting it with Brittany’s own on the coffee table, subtly nudging the presents with the back of her hands as she goes. Santana stifles a giggle behind her and Brittany shoots her a pouting, pleading look over her shoulder. “Presents?”

“Hmm, let me think,” Santana teases, her face thoughtful but a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. 

“Santana,” Brittany whines, flopping back on the couch so she’s sprawled partially across the cushions and mostly across Santana, “C’mon you’re killing me.”

Santana laughs and twists slightly so she can hover her face over Brittany’s. “Well, we can’t have that,” she says before pressing a long kiss to Brittany’s mouth.

“Mmm,” Brittany hums when Santana pulls away. “Presents now?”

Santana’s laughter is a breath of chocolatey air across Brittany’s face as she rolls her eyes fondly. “Presents now,” she agrees, leaning back.

“Okay!” Brittany says brightly, bouncing slightly on her seat. “Open mine first,” she insists, reaching across Santana to grab her present from the coffee table. Santana grins adoringly at her girlfriend; Brittany may love Christmas and getting gifts, but she always gets even more excited to give people her own. She has always been impatient for people to open her gifts and see their reaction, to the point that, when they were young, her parents would have to hide her own presents after she wrapped them so she wouldn’t take them and start giving them out early.

Brittany offers Santana her present with a soft smile as she leans back, her eyes so bright and beautiful that Santana can’t really help it when she leans forward to peck Brittany’s cheek as she passes her. Brittany’s present is thin and square, wrapped in penguins with Santa hats exchanging their own gifts, the same wrapping paper that Santana and the munchkin picked out last year when she took her Christmas shopping since both Brittany’s parents were working. It feels both delicate and sturdy in Santana’s hands, and she flips it over to find a seam of wrapping paper, sliding her nail carefully under the edge and popping the tape open with a soft ripping sound. There’s movement out of the corner of her eye and she glances up with a grin, pausing to admire how Brittany squirms impatiently while she watches Santana painstakingly peel back the wrapping paper.

Brittany catches her gaze and pouts. “C’mon, Santana,” she whines, and who’s Santana to refuse such an adorable expression? She quickly rips the rest of the paper away, revealing a beige cover, slightly worn at the edges, the album name scrawled delicately across the front, black and white figures frozen in pose. Santana traces one finger delicately under the script, feeling tears gather as her fingertip carefully maps out _Rumours,_ before managing to look up at Brittany.

Brittany’s eyes are wide and bright, her lower lip caught between her teeth, as she meets Santana’s gaze. “I know you used to listen to it on the record player with your abeulo before he passed away, and then your— Your abeula always played it when you were over but because of— Well, with everything, I know you were worried about not being able to listen to it again the same way so I thought— I mean, know it’s a little worn, but my grandparents were overjoyed to let me have it to give to you,” Brittany trails off uncertainly as Santana’s silence stretches on. “I mean, if you don’t like it I can— I mean I probably shouldn’t have assumed—”

Santana cuts Brittany off with a fierce, slightly teary kiss, breathing an _I love you_ against her lips. “I love it,” she whispers, pulling back to gasp in a breath and letting her forehead rest against Brittany’s, “I love it almost as much as I love you. I mean you—” Santana breathes in shakily, “You knew exactly what I wanted before I did. I don’t know how but you—” Santana cuts herself off and instead presses another deep kiss to Brittany’s lips.

“So you like it?” Brittany ensures breathlessly when they break apart. Santana gives a watery laugh and nods. “Good,” Brittany says with a smile, lifting her hands and catching Santana’s tears with her thumbs.

Santana smiles again and presses a kiss to each of Brittany’s palms before sniffling and frowning a little. “Uh, Britt?”

“Mmm?”

“I love it, so much. But, um, I don’t have a record player.”

Brittany frowns deeply. “Yeah, you do,” she says in confusion, “your mom got— Oh my God forget you just opened that.” Brittany frantically starts shoving wrapping paper back over the large album cover, as if the shredded penguin paper would erase the gift from Santana’s memory.

“I— Britt, what are you—” Santana freezes, her mouth hanging open. “Wait, you mean—”

“Nope!” Brittany says loudly over her. “Nothing! You don’t know about it! You didn’t see anything!”

“Britt—”

“Nu-uh!” Brittany interrupts again, still trying to re-cover the album with wrapping paper. “Nothing at all. I didn’t even get you a gift this year.”

Santana laughs and stills Brittany’s hands, waiting until wide blue eyes meet hers to speak. “It’s okay, Britt-Britt,” Santana soothes, running her thumbs over Brittany’s hands. “I can pretend,” she says with a wide, adoring smile, “I’ll just act surprised when I open it.”

Brittany groans and drops her head. “I can’t believe I just did that. I didn’t even think about the fact that you wouldn’t have opened your mom’s gift yet.”

“Hey,” Santana giggles, tugging on Brittany’s hands, “I love you.”

Brittany rolls her eyes at herself but smiles at Santana. “Even when I ruin the surprise?”

Santana leans forward to press her forehead to Brittany’s. “Especially then,” she promises. 

Brittany sighs out a breath full of laughter before tipping her chin up slightly to catch Santana’s lips. She lets the kiss linger for a long moment, nipping at Santana’s lips and soothing the sting with her tongue, before pulling back with a cheeky grin. “My turn then?” she asks.

Santana laughs and pecks Brittany’s lips again before carefully setting the album on the coffee table, crumbling the penguin paper up into a ball and tossing it towards the entryway of the living room. “Your turn,” she agrees as she reaches for Brittany’s present, only hesitating for a split second before grabbing it.

Brittany notices the hesitation and the flash of fear in Santana’s eyes but doesn’t say anything, instead letting her fingers trail softly over Santana’s as she takes the gift from her girlfriend’s hands.

The present is soft and squishy, crinkling the snowman covered paper as Brittany prods at it. She gives Santana a quick grin as she starts to rip into the paper, wondering what could possibly have her girlfriend so worried. The tear in the paper reveals a stuffed duck, it’s material soft and fuzzy, with a small sailor’s hat on its head and a blue and white necktie around it’s neck. Brittany smiles at the stuffie, hugging the duck to her chest and nuzzling into the soft fuzz. “Aww, he’s adorable,” she coos as she glances up at Santana. 

“Check—” Santana rasps, pausing to clear her throat, her eyes wide and still just a little bit scared, “Check the necktie.”

Brittany shoots Santana a quick, comforting smile before lifting a hand to probe the duck’s neck. Her fingers hit something solid and she pauses, glancing up at Santana with wide eyes. Santana manages a weak smile and nods at the stuffed duck. Brittany swallows thickly as she brushes her fingers over cold metal again, carefully untying the duck’s necktie and letting two earrings fall into her hand. They’re small gold hoops, each band twisted into an infinity loop at the front, lightly covered in sparkling silver gems that catch the light and wink up at Brittany. The infinity loop turns and tucks into itself, neatly emerging into the rest of the hoop on the other side and reconnecting seamlessly to the soft gold metal. Brittany opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She just looks up at Santana, who seems to be scarcely breathing and wringing her hands rather forcefully, and wordlessly shakes her head at her girlfriend.

“It’s— I thought—” Santana pauses and gulps in a breath before giving Brittany a shaky smile. “When I get you a ring, I want it to be _it_ , you know?” Brittany manages to blink, but the rest of her body remains frozen still, even while her heart and soul trembles. “And I saw those at the mall and I was thinking about that day in glee with the first partner assignment and I thought— Even though it isn’t time for that yet and neither of us are ready because we haven’t even graduated, I still wanted to make you a promise that one day— One day we will be. One day we’ll be there and it will be time and I’ll have a ring and it will be _it._ ” Santana breathes deeply and Brittany tries to force herself into motion, except she’s stuck staring into dark eyes she somehow has, just at that moment, fallen impossibly more in love with in than ever before. Santana laughs breathlessly and nervously at herself, scratching at the skin under her eye. “I’m not really making a lot of sense am I?”

Brittany opens her mouth to respond but the words don’t come. Instead she reaches forward and wraps her fingers around Santana’s wrist, drawing a heart with her index finger.

“Do you remember that day? The one with the ballad assignment?” Santana asks. Brittany nods wordlessly. “Do you remember when we went home and I was getting so frustrated with that ridiculous math question?” Santana swallows thickly and musters a soft, watery smile when Brittany nods again. “Do you remember what you told me? About limits and infinity?”

Brittany laughs breathlessly and swipes at a stray tear. “It’s like pulling a duck from a hat,” she murmurs.

Santana’s eyes are deep and dark and endless. “No one else would have understood, but I just— That was the moment I did. That’s when I got it. And it took me some time to get my shit together,” Santana gives a small laugh and half-shrugs, “and accept it but I know what you meant back then.”

Brittany’s smile starts to hurt her cheeks as she reaches forwards to pull Santana tight against her, the earrings in one hand and the stuffed duck in the other, pressing her face into the junction between Santana’s neck and shoulder and breathing in deeply. Santana’s hands clutch at Brittany’s sweater and Brittany feels her press a long kiss to the side of her head.

“I meant that I’ll love you forever,” Brittany whispers into Santana’s skin.

Because Brittany understands things like limits and infinity and forever, and her teachers always tell her that the best way to learn something is to teach it to someone else, and Brittany understands that she’s the luckiest person in the world for just for the chance to spend the rest of her life teaching Santana how to pull ducks out of hats.

 

* * *

 

December comes and goes in the quiet moments, with late nights long after the sun’s gone down and late mornings spent curled into each other under the comforter, with cold noses pressed into bed-warm skin, with ugly Christmas sweaters and twinkling ornaments and gift exchanges neither one would have thought possible back in sophomore year, with crinkled wrapping paper and old family baking and even older songs, with both melancholy for those lost through death and estrangement and gratitude for those who stayed and loved through it all.

 

* * *

 

Brittany is used to babysitting her sister, and if she’s being honest, her sister is actually a really great excuse for when she doesn’t want to go out. If she tells someone that she’s got to babysit and can’t go out, they send her pitying looks and apologetic _that sucks_ but they don’t press the matter. The munchkin is pretty easy to entertain, especially since she’s nine and has both an active imagination and her entire bedroom of toys (both hers and Brittany’s old ones) to busy herself with. It makes it easy for _babysitting my little sister_ to turn into _hanging out with Santana and ordering pizza and watching old Disney movies with the munchkin_.

And considering her reputation at McKinley, Brittany’s pretty sure no one would believe that Santana would rather spend a quiet night hanging out with a nine year-old than drinking herself into doing something stupid (one of the healthiest things about Santana coming out, even just to herself, is she never goes out to party and drink far too much to try and forget about everything anymore, and Brittany has never been more thankful than now that Santana doesn’t need alcohol to feel “normal” anymore). It’s actually pretty amusing to Brittany, who knows Santana better than she knows herself sometimes, that who she actually is and who she presents to the world are almost polar opposites (or it’s amusing now that it’s stopped making Brittany sad, because now she knows that Santana is trying to get her public persona to match her outside, to varying degrees of hilarity). 

The Santana of the McKinley halls, especially the Santana of last year or the year before, would probably be appalled to know that she’d rather spend a Friday night watching Disney movies with Brittany and the munchkin in her pjs that out at Puck’s party; the real Santana, even back then, always knew there was no place she’d rather be than hanging out with her two favourite Pierces. All of the thought makes Brittany a little introspective, and she looks at Santana instead of the move. She’s clutching her blanket around her shoulders, her eyes focused intently on the movie despite the fact that they’ve seen it hundreds of times, and Brittany’s heart aches at how much she wants it to be like this for the rest of their lives. 

“Do you ever worry about the future?” Brittany wonders quietly.

“Not really,” Santana shrugs and glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eye. Brittany’s sitting in front of the couch with her legs drawn up to her chest, her bunny-patterned pj pants tucked in around her feet, absently playing with the straw of her slushy as the old knitted afghan draped over her slips off her shoulders. Santana reaches over and adjusts the afghan so it’s covering Brittany more; she feels a rush of something warm and bubbly sweep through her at Brittany’s thankful smile and she cuddles further into her own blanket.

“Really?” Brittany asks in interest, her face bright under the glowing light of the television.

Santana shrugs again. “No,” she repeats, easily and honestly, “Not since I met you.”

Brittany’s eyes go all warm and soft. “Santana,” she murmurs, leaning over the popcorn bowl between them to press a soft, searching kiss to her lips.

A light smack on the back of their heads draws them apart with a grumble. “No kissing when you’re babysitting,” the munchkin scolds from behind them, “them’s the rules.”

Brittany shoots Santana a playful glare. “This is all your fault,” she complains.

Santana holds up her hands in surrender. “I think we are equally to blame for that. It takes two people to make out!”

“Ewww,” the munchkin whines. “No talking about kissing in front of me either.”

“That’s not a rule,” Santana complains.

“It is now.”

“Yeah well, you’re not in charge.”

“So? Neither are you!”

“I’m more in charge than you are.”

“You are not—”

“Oh my God!” Brittany interrupts. “Are you two always going to be like this?”

Santana rolls her head back on the couch to look at the munchkin. “Pretty much,” they say in sync, grinning and high-fiving each other.

“Ridiculous,” Brittany mutters, turning back to the movie to try and hide the ecstatic flush to her face at the thought. “Now hush, Ray’s about to start singing.”

Santana grins and moves the popcorn bowl out of the way to scooch across the fluffy carpet and move closer to Brittany. “Hey,” the munchkin warns.

Santana grins but doesn’t turn around, catching Brittany’s smirk out of the corner of her eye and forcing herself not to giggle. “Your parents never said anything about cuddling,” she says, curling into Brittany to the sound of an exasperated groan behind them.

Brittany turns her head and, under the guise of putting her empty slushie cup on the side table, kisses Santana’s cheek and whispers against the soft skin, “They did say something about _naked_ cuddling though,” delighting when Santana’s skin heats up under her lips before she turns back to the movie.

They watch in silence, curled together, stifling their snickers against shoulders and hair when the sound of soft snores starts to fill the air behind them. As Dr. Facilier reprimands Lawrence, they shift around to get more comfortable. Brittany reaches behind her for a couple of throw pillows while Santana moves the popcorn bowl to one of the side tables and spreads her blanket across the living room floor before stretching out on her stomach, crossing her arms in front of her and resting her chin on them. Brittany adjusts the munchkin on the couch so she’s laying on a pillow and has a couple blankets tucked in around her before pressing a kiss to the top of her sister’s head; the munchkin grumbles sleepily and makes a grabby motion at her older sister for a sluggish hug. Brittany smiles and whispers a _goodnight_ before turning to snuggle in beside Santana, throwing her blanket over them and resting partially on Santana’s throw pillow and partially on her own. The munchkin snuffles and shifts on the couch behind them before sighing and falling still. Santana seems to be fighting sleep as well, but Brittany feels wide awake as she watches the movie, riveted even though she’s seen it countless times before while babysitting her sister.

“You know, yours was better,” Brittany says suddenly, “Better than Mr. Shue’s, too.”

Santana blinks sleepily, her dark eyes half closed as she tries to stifle a yawn. “I mean of course it was, but my what exactly?”

Brittany shifts until she can reach and poke at Santana’s cheek, giggling when Santana tries to swat her hand away but misses, her arm flopping limply across the throw pillows and falling with a soft _thump_ on the carpeted floor. “Your proposal, silly.”

Santana is suddenly wide awake, her body tense and eyes so wide the white practically glows in the light of the television. “I’m sorry, my _what_?”

Brittany runs a hand through Santana’s hair, her fingers scratching soothingly at the back of Santana’s neck. “The earrings you got me for Christmas,” she explains patiently, grinning at how adorable Santana is when she’s half-asleep and struggling to get her brain to work.

“That wasn’t— I mean I didn’t have a ring so it wasn’t an actual— I mean it was—” Santana pauses and turns her wide eyes on Brittany, “Help.”

Brittany giggles and presses a kiss to the side of Santana’s head, sliding her hand from Santana’s dark hair to drape over her back and tug her even closer. “I know, sweetie, but it kinda was one.”

Santana relaxes under Brittany’s arm and settles back onto her arms, turning her head so she can still see Brittany’s face in the television light. “How so?” she asks curiously, the deer-in-the-headlights look starting to fade from her dark eyes. 

Brittany pauses to think, resting her head back on her own arm but curling closer to Santana so they’re almost nose-to-nose. “It was a proposal for a proposal. Like you promised to propose to me, and you offered me some jewellery with it, and we both started crying. Basically everything you need for a proposal.”

Santana chuckles. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, genius.”

“You wanna know something else?”

Santana’s eyes go deep and soft and endless as she smiles her Brittany-smile and nods. “Always.”

Brittany presses herself closer to Santana until she’s practically draped over her, their breaths fanning across the other’s cheeks. “I’ll say _yes_ to anything you ask, real proposals or non-proposal proposals.”

Santana’s smile goes even deeper and softer as she leans forward to kiss Brittany in response. “Me too,” she mumbles into Brittany’s mouth. She breathes in deeply through her nose, and all her thoughts are filled with the coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine combination of Brittany’s shampoo and body wash and the buttery-chocolatey taste of their movie snacks earlier and the gentle pressure of Brittany across her back.

The munchkin grumbles behind them and twists and turns on the couch until she settles back into sleep.

Santana pulls back with an annoyed eye-roll that’s actually not annoyed at all. “A tattletale even when she’s sleeping,” she complains fondly. 

Brittany giggles and steals one more kiss before settling back on her elbow. “We should finish the movie and go to sleep.”

“You want to carry the munchkin up this time? Last time I did I think I almost knocked her head into the her doorway. And as much as your parents love me, I don’t think they’d appreciates me knocking their baby out.”

“Let’s just sleep here,” Brittany suggests. “Then we can’t get in trouble again since mom and dad will see the munchkin is right there and we’re completely decent.”

“Since when does the shrimp get the couch?” Santana says by way of agreement, “We’re seniors now.”

Brittany rolls her eyes and giggles at the corny joke and settles further into Santana so she’s cuddled comfortably across her girlfriend’s back, taking each corner of the blanket and tucking it more securely around them before snuggling her face into Santana’s neck. “Goodnight, Santana,” she says instead.

Santana grumbles for a little bit, shifting slightly so she can press a kiss to Brittany’s forehead and mumbling a _goodnight_ in return before she settles back onto her pillows.

“Love you, San.”

“Love you too, Britt.”

That’s how they find their girls when Whitney and Pierce get home that night, the munchkin snoring softly on the couch and the other two girls stretched out in the middle of the living room, Brittany snuggled into Santana’s back and one of Santana’s hands freed from under her head in order to tangle with Brittany’s on the carpet above their pillows, the title screen of _The Princess and the Frog_ playing quietly over the living room. Neither of them hear the shutter of Pierce’s phone as he snaps a picture of all his girls, and they don’t notice Whitney’s grin as she takes her husband’s phone to send the picture to herself, saving it before forwarding it on to Maribel, who she knows is working her third night shift in a row right now. 

Whitney knows Maribel is going to need all the pictures of their two girls cuddling for that album she’s making, the one that Whitney’s pretty sure will make it to a certain day with two brides dressed in white.

 

* * *

 

January is bright and dark, the loss of that Christmas glow and the breath of a fresh start underneath all the broken promises everyone makes; it’s white snow still falling long after the sun sets in the evenings, it’s the start of the newest chapter of a well-read book, all the worn pages behind the new title and all the unopened pages ahead, it’s a new year for someone who’s struggled for so long and it’s a new year for someone who’s waited for so long, it’s a resolution to stop trying to fix all the flaws but instead to love all the potential.

 

* * *

 

Exams are possibly the worst part of school, Brittany decides as she collapses on Santana’s bed after her second last unit test of the week; she’s almost positive that she’s brain dead right now because all her thoughts are a little bit floaty and heavy at the same time. Santana’s not home yet, and Santana’s mom is at work for the rest of the day, but Brittany’s had her own key to the Lopez’s house for almost as long as she’s had a key to her own house. She’s pretty sure Santana is out picking up some coffees for the two of them so they can finish studying for their exam tomorrow, since today’s exam was in the one of the two classes that Brittany doesn’t have with Santana and Santana wanted to treat her. Brittany had halfheartedly tried to give Santana some money for their coffees but Santana had waved her off with a sweet kiss to the apple of Brittany’s cheek. Brittany was not so secretly delighted, as she always is, whenever Santana does girlfriend-y things (even though they’ve been doing girlfriend-y things for forever, even way back before they started sleeping together, but there’s something distinctly different now that they are in love and not hiding it; it’s like Brittany has always wanted to shout about how sweet Santana is from the rooftops, and now she actually _can_ ).

Brittany stretches out across the bed, arching her back until it cracks satisfyingly, staring at the ceiling blankly. She digs her phone out of her pocket and sets it on the bedside table before she flops back onto the bed again and wiggles her way under the covers, burying her face in Santana’s pillows. When she breathes in deeply enough, she can smell the faint scent of citrus and vanilla and pinewood that always clings to Santana, and she easily drifts to sleep.

When she wakes up, it’s to Santana standing above her, her expression soft and bashful, like she’s tasting something too sweet. “Hey, sleepyhead,” Santana murmurs.

“Hey,” Brittany mumbles. Her head feels less braindead than it did before, but it still feels a little bit like it’s stuffed with cotton, especially after her nap. “What time is it?” she asks as she stretches a little bit before settling back on her stomach, burying her head into the pillows but turning it so she can still see Santana.

“Almost five,” Santana says, perching herself beside Brittany, one leg tucked under herself.

“What took you so long?” Brittany asks around a yawn humming as Santana cards her fingers through blonde hair; Brittany curls towards Santana, feeling a little bit like a cat with the comforting feel of clever fingers in her hair and the fact that she’s practically purring under Santana’s ministrations.

“I ran into the Hobbit, Wheels, and the glee club gays at the Lima Bean and they asked me to have a coffee with them before I left,” Santana explains, “I texted you but you didn’t answer so I figured you were asleep.”

Brittany can hear the faint note of surprised delight in Santana’s voice at the fact that she was asked to hang out with the other glee kids and she can’t help but smile at how adorable Santana is when she’s trying to maintain her coolness. “You’re a glee club gay,” she reminds Santana, warmth filling all her limbs when she hears Santana’s snort of laughter.

“Yeah,” she concedes, and Brittany’s never been prouder of Santana for how easy it is now for her to say something she struggled with for so long, “but I’m the hottest.”

“No argument there,” Brittany agrees, not without a faint trace of smugness in her voice.

Santana chuckles above her and Brittany shifts so she can wrap her one arm around Santana’s waist and bury her face in Santana’s stomach. She catches one of Santana’s hands and plays with her fingers. “How’d your test go?” Santana asks.

Brittany shrugs. “I dunno. I get math but I don’t, like, get tests, you know?”

Santana makes a sound of agreement and winds the tips Brittany’s hair around her fingers, marvelling at the fact that no matter how much she plays with the blonde strands they never curl. “I get that,” Santana says lightly. “But it doesn’t matter Britt-Britt, you’re a genius.”

Brittany’s face gets a little too warm for her skin but she just grins (and tries to ignore the little whisper of doubt in the back of her mind). “So how are the other glee kids?” she says, and Santana tactfully ignores the change in subject, she just presses her fingers soothingly into Brittany’s neck. 

“They are their usual dull selves,” Santana answers easily, and only Brittany would ever be able to detect the hint of fondness hidden there, “but we did run into Andrew McCarthy.”

Brittany furrows her brow. “You ran into the father from _The Spiderwick Chronicles_?”

Santana laughs a deep belly laugh above her, one that Brittany can feel from where she’s pressed against Santana’s stomach.

“That’s what you know him from?” she asks with affectionate incredulity.

“He was also Robert Kennedy in that one TV documentary about Jackie Kennedy.”

“I love your brain,” Santana says dreamily. Brittany blushes even more but remains content with continuing to play with Santana’s fingers, pressing down each knuckle like she’s playing piano and drawing swirling patterns across her palms. The silence around them is comfortable, calm and soothing and relaxed. It feels like how Brittany wants to spend the rest of her life; comfortable and relaxed, cuddling in bed with Santana.

“Do you ever think about the fact that our lives are literally _High School Musical_?” Brittany asks suddenly. Santana is silent for a long moment, long enough for Brittany to pause in tracing hearts on her girlfriend’s palm and tip her head around to look up at her; Brittany eyes Santana in concern as her dark eyes stare blankly across the room. “Santana?” she prompts.

Santana blinks quickly and shakes her head to clear it. “I do now. That’s all I’m going to be able to think of.”

Brittany giggles. “You’re welcome.”

Santana rolls her eyes and bends down to kiss Brittany, muttering a fond “Dork” against her lips.

Brittany grins and hums into the sweet kiss, not even disappointed when Santana pulls back because she can just stare unashamedly at Santana instead. There’s another long stretch of comfortable silence, and it’s only because of the quiet that Brittany can sense the sight change in Santana’s thoughts, the little bit of tension in Santana’s fingers.

“Have you heard anything yet?” Santana asks quietly, and she doesn’t need to specify what she’s talking about for Brittany to understand.

Brittany finds it a little hard to breath for a second, like someone’s sitting on her chest. Santana had gotten her conditional acceptance letter last Wednesday, and while she’s beyond ecstatic for Santana getting into her dream school in her dream city, there’s a tiny part of her that’s petrified that she’ll be stuck in Lima forever while Santana is off being amazing in New York and finding someone else to love. And the more days that pass without anything in the mail from the schools she’s applied to, the more sure Brittany is that she’s not going to hear anything and she’ll get left behind. “Not yet,” Brittany finally manages, “but it’s only Tuesday and they don’t deliver mail on the weekends so.”

Santana hums in agreement and Brittany tries not to read too much into the slightly worried tone; she hopes she’s just projecting her own fears onto Santana, but Brittany knows her too well, and she knows Santana is probably as worried about it as Brittany herself is. “Well they’d be dumb not to accept you,” Santana says firmly.

Brittany closes her eyes for a long moment, breathing in deeply and allowing Santana’s familiar scent and her warm stomach and her gentle fingers to soothe her. Even if Brittany doesn’t get into any of the schools she wants to, she can still go to New York with Santana and just work instead, because it won’t be the first time a graduate takes a year off to work and as long as she’s with Santana she doesn’t really care what she’s doing.

“Yeah,” Brittany finally agrees, and the smile she sends Santana is soft and full of warmth and love and promises for the future.

 

* * *

 

January comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the bitter cold that traps the town in a grey blanket and the weak sunlight starting to struggle in its attempts to melt the winter, with the magic festivities behind them and the familiarly mysterious unknown ahead, with the stress of being seniors and sectionals and Cheerios and college applications, and with the soft moments of unexplainable serenity in between all the tension and anxiety, like a concept you don’t know the word for, or a word you can’t quite define, like how you can count all the ways you love someone but none of the reasons why.

 

* * *

 

Santana’s father calls her in the first week of February, and she almost doesn’t answer. She does, because of course she does; she’s been trying not to get her hopes up for almost six years, but she’s never quite been able to squash the little flicker of hope in her chest every time her father’s photo fills her phone screen. That little flicker of hope always dies about fifteen seconds into the call, but it always still bursts into life for those too few moments.

Brittany’s dozing on her bed; it’s one of the few days neither of them are busy, and one of the fewer days where they’re completely alone, and so they’re taking full advantage of it by cuddling lazily on Santana’s bed. Santana’s ringtone barely disturbs her, though her face crinkles in displeasure when Santana slips from her arms to pull on a pair of sleep shorts and Brittany’s discarded sweater from earlier, carefully opening to door to answer the phone call outside of her room. 

“Hello, papá,” Santana answers, carefully closing the door behind her.

“Santana. How are you?” her father’s voice is cool and calm, like always. Santana can’t quite remember the last time she heard any sort of emotion in his voice (actually she can remember, vividly: it was disappointment and resignation, back in November). 

“Good. School’s going really well,” she says, knowing what he’s really interested in.

“Have you boosted your math grade yet?”

Santana’s throat is suddenly dry, so she heads for the stairs to get a glass of water from the kitchen. “Yeah,” she answers without elaborating. Her mom is fine with what her grades are right now, as is the university she applied for if the conditional acceptance letter she got is anything to go by (Brittany’s conditional acceptance came exactly a week after hers, and though neither of them showed it to the other, they were both equally worried about those days when Santana was moving to New York and Brittany wasn’t; and equally relieved when it finally came).

“Hmm,” her father says.

Santana makes it to the kitchen without feeling like she’s going to throw up, which is actually an accomplishment when it comes to talking to her father if she’s being honest. “I only need an sixty percent to maintain my conditional acceptance,” Santana reminds her father with a hint of attitude she can’t quite squash, “and I have an A so as long as I show up I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” her father warns, and Santana halfheartedly mumbles an apology; it’s almost impressive how fast Santana’s father can make her mood turn miserable.

“How’s the clinic?” Santana asks instead.

“Good,” her father answers without elaborating. Santana cradles her phone against her shoulder and ear to pour a glass of water.

“That’s good,” Santana says before taking a large gulp of water and half hoping that it will calm the churning in her stomach.

“When’s your break?”

“Beginning of next week.”

“I work Saturday until Wednesday.”

“Okay.” Santana wishes she actually felt something other than just the expected, slightly disappointed _nothing_ she always feels when her father reminds her he doesn’t have the time to see his only daughter.

Her father is silent on the other end and Santana takes one last gulp of water before setting the glass in the sink and heading back to the basement, bracing herself for the newer addition to their (almost) weekly phone call.

“Are you still pretending you’re gay?” her father asks, his voice as emotionless as it always is.

Santana swallows thickly and her legs stop working. She stares at one of the pictures of Brittany and her hanging on the hallway wall from summer last year, their arms around each other and laughing, carefree and in love. “I’m not pretending anything,” she deadpans as she always does, struggling to keep the thickness out of her throat as she sticks to the script she’s repeated for almost three months. “I am gay. I always have been and I always will be.” Despite the entire situation with her father being awful, it makes her so grateful for her mom being who she is.

“Hmm,” her father says. Santana focuses on the burning in her lungs and chest and throat, struggling to keep her breaths even; she knew this was coming, because he always ends their conversations like this, but it doesn’t stop the sting. (Tomorrow, Mr. Shue will come into Spanish class and his causal racism will surprise her almost as much as her father’s causal homophobia doesn’t.) “I should go,” he says, “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Santana says, and her mouth tastes like ash. Her phone clicks off and she sighs, blinking rapidly to keep the wetness of her eyes as she heads downstairs. All she really wants right now is to curl up beside Brittany and let her make everything better. These last few weeks Santana has noticed that the shame that used to stick to the inside of her stomach every time she talked to her father has stopped manifesting itself; she’s making progress, and nothing anyone could say to her will ever make her go back to the place she was before last summer, she refuses to let that happen again.

She sighs and cracks her bedroom door open. Her bedroom is dimly lit by the winter sun coming through her cracked blinds. The furnace has kicked on and hums in the background, struggling to heat the house against the bitter winter air. Brittany is sprawled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around Santana’s pillow and her face buried in it. The blankets are pulled up to the middle of her back and her blonde hair haloes her head; one bare shoulder is exposed to the chilly basement air, and Santana already knows that Brittany will be warm and soft and sleepy when she climbs under the covers with her, but she takes a moment to just stand in the doorway and marvel at the fact that Brittany is in love with _her_ , completely and proudly.

Santana shivers in the chilled air of the basement and finally enters her room. Brittany stirs and peels one eye open, just a sliver of squinted blue. She wordlessly uncurls from Santana’s pillow and lifts the blanket invitingly. Santana doesn’t hesitate shuck off her sleep shorts and Brittany’s sweater and crawl into Brittany’s welcome arms, grinning cheekily when Brittany hisses at the feel of Santana’s cold feet on her almost too warm legs.

“Where’d you go?” Brittany mumbles as she wraps the covers tighter around them, pulling Santana into her bed-warm embrace.

“Phone call,” Santana says, and her other eye snaps open in sympathy and concern. Brittany doesn’t have to ask who the phone call was from, she already knows just by the tightness around Santana’s eyes and the tension in her shoulders, she just pulls Santana to her and gives her a lingering kiss, soft and gentle but still firm and _there_. 

“I’m just tired, you know?” Santana mumbles when she pulls back to catch her breath.“It would almost be easier if he just fully disowned my like abuela did, then I wouldn’t have to keep listening to how much he _disapproves of my choice_ every couple weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Brittany says, pressing her forehead to Santana’s. “It sucks and I wish I could do something about it.”

Santana traces a delicate line from Brittany’s brow, down the line of her cheek and across her lips before settling her palm against Brittany’s jaw. “You being here is enough,” she promises.

“Well that’s good,” Brittany murmurs, and then she tightens her arms around Santana, drawing Santana into her body even further and nuzzling into her hair. “Cause you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” Santana says into Brittany’s chest. Brittany’s embrace fixes almost everything, and Santana can feel the agitation from talking to her father fade away under Brittany’s soft warmth. If it’s impressive how fast Santana’s father can make her miserable, it’s even more impressive at how quickly Brittany can make her happy again. She drifts off to sleep to the sound of Brittany humming softly, stroking carefully through her hair and keeping all of Santana’s ghosts at bay with nothing more than her gentle touch and her love.

 

* * *

 

February is long and crisp, the promise of spring hidden in the beams of weak sunlight stretching in through the window and the threat of winter stealing the breath from your lungs as soon as you step outside; it’s the cheesiness of a Hallmark Holiday that used to make them both a little sad, and it’s the joy of finally being able to celebrate it like they’ve always wanted to, it’s the burning righteous anger at the unfairness of being told to hide after finally coming to terms with being yourself, and it’s the hint of heartbreak underneath it that, after everything, they’re still never going to be treated with the same decency as everyone else; it’s the weirdly delighted wonder of that extra day in February, where everything is a little bright and a little prolonged and a little uncertain and every kiss feels a little more like a promise than usual, like the extra day is something magical just for them, a reward for all of their struggles and fear and heartbreak.

 

* * *

 

Santana’s never been one for Hallmark Holidays, mostly because she never let herself enjoy them. She’s always had this very specific image of herself, one that she refused to change just in case someone found out about her secret, one that she was never able to let go of until she finally accepted herself. Which is why she’s kind of looking forward to Valentine’s Day this year, because it means she gets to do all the sickly sweet things she’s always denied herself of and, more than that, she gets to do all those things with Brittany.

The only problem is, she’s never really celebrated Valentine’s Day before, and her mom is even less help since the last time she celebrated Valentine’s Day was long before she divorced Santana’s father. She tells Santana some useless advice about _giving Brittany something special_ , as if Santana didn’t already know that; of _course_ Santana is going to give Brittany something special, the problem is that she has no fucking clue what that _special_ thing is. (Santana’s actually giddy with elation at the fact that she can gush to her mom about her _girlfriend_ because, for the longest time, it was something that Santana refused to let herself hope for because she was too busy bracing for rejection and abandonment; she covers this with her usual annoyed grumpiness, but her mom knows about the giddiness hidden underneath, moms are like that sometimes).

The other problem is that everyone else (besides Brittany, because Brittany is always her one exception) doesn’t understand that the Santana they’ve known for all of high school is the Santana that wasn’t happy with herself, the one that took all her fear and insecurity out on everyone else before anyone even got the chance to see inside her. They don’t know the Santana that Santana knows she is, and worst of all, Santana still doesn’t quite know how to be that Santana around them; which leads to some slightly confusing interactions for everyone involved, both bitchy and friendly, snarky and kind.

The only good part of it all is that Brittany remains beside her the entire time, holding her hand and giving her encouraging smiles and gently teasing her every time she tries to show someone else her _soft_ (and proud kisses, later, but that’s beside the point).

Which is why she ends up in the glee room with all the other girls, listening to them gush about how sweet their boyfriends are for Valentine’s Day (as if they weren’t all high school boys who forgot Valentine’s Day existed until last night, and as if Santana’s girlfriend isn’t the actual sweetest person alive and actually got Santana the sweetest gift ever). Santana only half pays attention as she leans against the piano. Brittany stands beside her and makes funny faces when everyone else is looking the other way, trying to make Santana’s blank, uninterested face break — she succeeds, but only Brittany can see the sliver a grin on her face and the hint of laughter in her dark eyes. The whole day is pretty dull, actually being able to _be_ with Brittany aside, and Santana is feeling the effects of it now, sleepiness starting to creep into the corners of her eyes; and all the talk about _Finn this_ and _Mike that_ and _Artie did this_ and _Finn said that_ and _Rory gave me this_ and _Finn is doing that_.

(Santana inwardly smirks because one of the best parts of coming out is that she doesn’t have to pretend to _get_ boys anymore or understand why all the other girls swoon over them. It means that she can uninterestedly file her nails and only half pay attention to the conversation without anyone getting on her case or asking what boy she _likes._ It also means that she can give Brittany all the lovesick looks she wants without anyone realizing she’s kind of in love with her, since everyone already knows she’s in love with her, kind of a lot.)

She’s in the middle of staring at Brittany out of the corner of her eye, marvelling at how pretty she is and how sweet she is and how lucky Santana is to have a perfect Valentine this year, when Rachel interrupts her musings.

“What?” Santana snaps. Brittany hides a smile behind a sip from her water bottle, sending Santana a knowing look out of the corner of her eye as she sets it on the piano behind them. Santana feels herself blush at being caught staring but resolutely ignores it.

“I said I thought you hated Valentine’s Day, Santana,” Rachel repeats carefully.

Santana swallows and hopes she conveys casual indifference when she answers with a simple “I did.” She knows she fails when she feels Brittany’s fingers slip into hers and squeeze teasingly. 

Rachel is obviously waiting for her to elaborate but Santana doesn’t particularly want to so she remains silent until Rachel nods awkwardly and says, “Oh.”

Brittany grins and hides it by nuzzling into Santana, her chin resting on Santana’s shoulder as she untangles their hands so she can wrap Santana up into a hug from behind, slipping her hands into the pockets of Santana’s letterman jacket. “She’s a real romantic,” she says seriously, and only Santana can tell she’s being teased by the way a grin is further hidden in her shoulder as Brittany shakes with silent giggles against her back.

“Really?” Rachel says in interest. Quinn just smirks at them, unfazed by the dark glare Santana throws her way.

“Really, really,” Brittany agrees, her arms tightening around Santana’s stomach. Santana tries not to melt back into Brittany’s warmth, but that’s nearly impossible. 

“They were pretty cute on our double date,” Tina agrees.

Santana scowls at her. “Watch it, Girl Chang,” she warns.

Tina rolls her eyes, completely unfazed by the bite in Santana’s voice. “You can pretend all you want, but I have photo evidence of—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Santana growls.

Tina laughs but holds her hands up in surrender. The other girls watch them in interest, but Santana’s only really focusing on the feel of Brittany’s hands tracing shapes on her stomach in her pockets. It’s really distracting, and she kind of zones out again when the other girls resume chatting about some movie coming out and the awful history homework they got assigned today that’s due tomorrow. Brittany presses her face against the juncture where Santana’s neck meets her shoulder and Santana can feel her smirk there, the kind that means that Brittany knows exactly how distracting she’s being.

The other girls start gathering their stuff, milling lazily about, both excited and reluctant to leave and get dressed for the Sugar Shack later. Brittany subtlety kisses the side of her neck before releasing Santana from her embrace and turning to gather her stuff off the piano. Santana grabs her own stuff, smiling softly to herself when she catches a glimpse of the pink cover of Brittany’s laptop peaking out of her backpack as Brittany packs her water bottle and glee sheet music away. Quinn and Mercedes lead the way out of the glee room to the parking lot, waving at Mr. Shue as they pass his office, Sugar and Tina and Rachel trail behind them with Brittany and Santana bringing up the rear, shutting the door behind them as they leave. Brittany slips her hand into Santana’s with a grin; no matter how many times Brittany does that, it never fails to get warm tingles racing through the veins of Santana’s arms.

The two of them wave goodbye to the others and head off in the opposite direction where Brittany’s car is parked; since they had to be at the school early for Cheerios, they got prime parking near the staff parking lot.

“I can’t believe how nosy everyone was being today,” Santana complains as they near Brittany’s car. 

“Aww, do you get grumpy when people are being friendly,” Brittany coos.

“Oh fuck off,” Santana laughs, no actual bite in her voice.

Brittany just giggles and swings their hands in a wide, dramatic arc, until Santana can’t help the adoring smile she gives her girlfriend (it’s been just over three months since they were dating and Santana still hasn’t stopped getting a small thrill every time she thinks of Brittany as her _girlfriend_ ).

They drive to Santana’s house in comfortable peace, hands tangled on the centre console, singing along to every cheesy love song the radio plays. Even though Santana’s thoughts never stray too far from how lucky she is to be sitting here holding Brittany’s hand, a small part of her remains worried about what could happen tonight at the Sugar Shack, even though it’s hard to be anxious when Brittany’s hand is in hers and she’s singing dramatically along to whatever popular boy band is on the radio, blue eyes sparkling when they meet Santana’s at a red light. They reach Santana’s house far too soon, and she pouts a little at having to leave the car until Brittany lifts their hands to kiss Santana’s knuckles with a giggle.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Brittany promises, “And then Breadstix.”

“Don’t be late,” Santana warns, leaning across the console to give Brittany a sweet, lingering kiss. (Her stomach churns just a little, thinking about the possibility of having to face the God Squad’s rejection tonight.)

Brittany grins and lets go of the steering wheel to cup Santana’s jaw. “Never,” she promises against Santana’s lips, and then all Santana can taste is Brittany’s smile.

 

* * *

 

February comes and goes in the quiet moments, with midnight dances in the bitter chill of the winter night, with fresh snow covering everything like a new beginning every time clouds gather on the edge of town, with the pure joy at finally being able to celebrate Valentine’s Day like they’ve always wanted, with no hurt or tears or being told that she’ll never find love, with playlists and boughten performances and sweet kisses outside of one of their houses, while everyone else at McKinley receives last minute candy and panicked dinner reservations and cheap jewelry, they give each other the sun and the moon and the stars, they give each other infinity.

 

* * *

 

Santana’s not going to lie, being at Rachel’s dress fitting makes her skin crawl in the worst way possible. It’s not just the colour pink covering her body for the first time in years, it’s the consultant asking the _blushing bride_ everything about the _lucky groom_ and sending sideways sneers at Santana every time she brushes her hand across Brittany’s.

Ever since November Santana has been even more acutely aware of the the eyes on her back. Before she always calmed herself down by reminding herself that she was just being paranoid because it’s not like anyone could _smell_ the lesbian on her or anything, but now she knows that every time someone looks at her they see that fucking ad first more often than not. Whenever she feels eyes linger on her, Santana’s skin crawls with the heavy weight of judgemental gazes, whether their expressions are full of disapproval or revulsion or arousal (which, is somehow worse; Santana can handle the nameless hate, more or less, but she can’t handle the creepy knowing looks that guys send them when they spot her holding hands with Brittany).

Sometimes the thought of that fucking ad still makes her so angry, but most times it just makes her tired. She’s tired of being Ohio’s novelty, and she’s tired of being Lima’s _Teenage Lesbian_ , and she’s tired of the looks and she’s tired of the sneers and she’s tired of everyone looking at her and Brittany and making _assumptions_ without even knowing anything about them. It’s everything she feared back in September right before school started, and there’s nothing she can actually do about it. (Though to be fair, it’s not _everything_ she feared; she still has a home and her mom still loves and supports her and Brittany is still amazing and beautiful and _loving_ , and she feels lighter and happier, now that’s she’s not denying that part of her identity to her loved ones and, more importantly, to herself.)

But still, if she listens to Rachel faintly complain about the lighting in the dressing room one more time Santana’s actually going to lose it. Brittany nudges her where she’s sitting pressed against her and gives her a sweet smile, and Santana can feel all her anger start to melt away.

Tina, Mercedes, Sugar, and Quinn are all on the other side of the store, pawing through bridesmaids dresses to hopefully replace the atrocities they are currently wearing; Santana and Brittany got stuck with Rachel-sitting duty, trying their best to distract her while the other four pick out dresses that aren’t absolutely awful. Rachel’s in the dressing room with the snide consultant, and so Brittany and Santana are sharing a chair, the poofy parts of their third round of bridesmaids dresses forcing them to sit with their hips pressed together and their legs in different directions. Brittany suddenly straightens and yawns, stretching her arms high above her head before settling one across Santana’s shoulders. Santana giggles, feeling light and bubbly as Brittany waggles her eyebrows suggestively (and not for the first time wonders how anyone could think there’s anything _wrong_ about their love). 

“Smooth,” Santana snorts.

“You love it,” Brittany sing-songs, surging forward the press a series of sloppy kisses to Santana’s cheek.

“You’re not a fourteen year-old boy on his first ever date,” Santana chides as she shoves Brittany’s face away, though she can’t quite wipe the smile off her face or hide the laughter in her voice.

“Well that’s probably a good thing. I don’t know if you could handle all those hormones at once,” Brittany teases.

“Me?” Santana says in mock-surprise, cuddling closer to Brittany. “I don’t think _your_ body could handle it.”

Brittany laughs and presses a kiss into Santana’s hair. The store is pretty quiet; the other glee girls are talking on the other side of the store but Santana can’t make out anything they’re saying, and Rachel’s screechy voice is silent for blissful moments, and the snide consultant is out of sight. Santana relaxes further into Brittany, sighing in contentment, still marvelling at how freeing it feels to be _herself_ in public.

“What do you think?”

Santana blinks and tenses a little bit when Rachel’s voice breaks her thoughts. She glances up to find Rachel looking at them expectantly, the consultant standing close behind Rachel. Rachel’s newest dress is even poofier than the bridesmaids dresses everyone else has on, which is not a good thing in this case. It’s almost feathered at the bottom, with a tight bodice and a large bow tied at her waist and mostly see-through short sleeves. It doesn’t really look bad or anything, it just doesn’t really look good either; it doesn’t leave a lasting impression either way, but the consultant is giving Santana and Brittany that snide look over Rachel’s shoulder and Santana can almost feel her hackles rising and her blood start to boil; mostly though, she just feels sick to her stomach.

“You look like a school girl obsessed with Big Bird,” Santana says flatly.

Rachel frowns and turns to Brittany. “What about you?”

Brittany sends Santana a sidelong look, her eyes bright and worried. “It does look like you swallowed chicken with all its feathers still on,” Brittany agrees.

Rachel turns around and inspects herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. “This dress falls right in your budget,” the consultant interrupts, sending a glare at Brittany and Santana. Brittany tightens her arm around Santana, and from the hard glint in her usually soft blue eyes Santana knows that Brittany recognizes the contemptuous looks too. “This style of dress is very modern, a little bit of a twist on the traditional ball gown.”

“No, they’re right,” Rachel says decisively, “It is too feathered. Barbra would never have worn this many ruffles.”

“Barbra’s your mother?” the consultant asks in interest.

“No,” Brittany and Santana both deadpan at the same time Rachel launches into her usual monologue. The consultant seems caught between confusion and fake interest, and her face settles somewhere on constipated.

“Dwarf,” Santana interrupts, “she doesn’t need your whole, sad life story. Nobody should be forced to sit through that, no matter how bitchy they are.” 

“Why are you so mean today?” Rachel asks, and she doesn’t even look hurt, just mildly curious. “You were almost friendly yesterday.”

Santana gives Rachel her darkest glare (ignoring the contemptuous glare the consultant is currently sending her). “Well we aren’t friends, Hobbit,” Santana sneers.

(Deep down, Santana knows that Rachel is bothering her so much more than usual today because it’s so easy for her. She can wake up any single day and go and get married, no questions asked, but Santana has to fucking move to a different state for her marriage to be recognized, and she only has six options at that.)

(Santana knows Rachel is getting on her last fucking nerve right now because Santana can’t actually get married in the state she was born in. It’s because there are more states where her love is illegal than there is wedding dresses Rachel has tried on today. It’s because every time Santana wants to hold Brittany’s hand she has to check over her shoulder to make sure there’s no one there to scream obscenities at them. It’s because Rachel-Fucking-Berry can get married at seventeen-fucking-years-old and if Santana wants to get married it’s illegal in almost sixty percent of the country. It’s because Rachel Berry’s wedding will be seen as an example of cute high school sweethearts and Santana’s marriage is a political war zone. It’s because, if Santana and Brittany want to travel, they have to be careful that they won’t be arrested or attacked for holding hands, and the Hobbit and Frankenteen could be bordering on public indecency and barely be noticed.)

(It’s because it’s not fucking _fair_ that she’s fought with herself for so long and now she has to fight the rest of the world too, or at least forty-three percent of America.)

Rachel continues to stare at her curiously and Santana continues to glare back until Brittany’s hand curls around her wrist and traces soothing circles there, hidden from the snide glances of the consultant by the poofy bottom of their bridesmaids dresses, and Santana remembers that she’s not actually alone in this, she never was. Santana twists her hand so she can tangle her fingers with Brittany, savouring the squeeze of acknowledgement Brittany makes.

She breaths in deeply and shakes her head, standing up quickly and marching away from Rachel and the consultant, towards the only part of the store not filled with people. Mercedes is looking at them in worry as Santana storms past them, Brittany trailing faithfully after her, but then her eyes slip past them and catch on the sneer the consultant is giving Brittany and Santana, and her eyes clear and then cloud over. She nudges Quinn beside her and nods in the direction of the consultant; they exchange stormy glances and start marching towards the consultant. 

Santana is too busy fighting the sick feeling in her stomach and the wetness behind her eyes to really pay attention to what’s going on around her (she especially doesn’t notice when Mercedes and Quinn demand a different consultant because she’s trying really hard not to look in that direction), until Brittany tightens her grip on Santana’s hand and pulls her down a row of dresses and around a corner, hidden from prying eyes. 

Brittany strokes her hands soothingly down Santana’s biceps as Santana finally gasps in a breath she so desperately needs. Her stomach is coiled tight and her skin crawls and she _hates_ that people can still make her feel like this despite how far she’s come. She hates that no matter what she does, she’s always going to feel a little bit like an outsider.

“It’s not fair,” Santana chokes out and, because it’s Brittany, she understands instantly. She doesn’t just understand Santana, but she understands the injustice of it all more intimately than any of the other glee club girls looking through dresses around the corner, in a way only Kurt and Blaine really understand. 

Brittany brushes Santana’s hair behind her ears, cupping full cheeks and thumbing away the streaks of mascara. “It’s not,” she agrees, and behind the hint of sadness and anger is a thread of steel. It’s something that Santana knows well, as familiar as that determined glint in her eye that Brittany gets whenever she wants to prove someone wrong or prove herself to someone; like that time when their fourth grade teacher said Brittany wasn’t performing _at an appropriate level_ and Brittany went home and studied hard enough to get one-hundred percents on her next five tests, or when she stood up to Santana’s father in middle school for missing another ballet recital even though she was terrified of him, or when she asked Santana to sing a duet in front of all of glee club even though she was petrified of what would happen, or when she first told Santana she was in love with her, or when she promised that she didn’t want Santana to be anybody but herself, or when she decided to run for class president by using her popularity to manipulate the entire high school into voting for her so she could make the school a safer place for people like her and her girlfriend, or when she choreographed the entire sectionals number for the Troubletones by herself in two days, or when Figgins shouted _teen lesbians_ down the hall of the school as if he had a right to call them that, or right now, in this moment, with determined eyes and steel in her voice.

“It’s not fair,” Brittany repeats, and Santana opens her eyes to see blue ones so bright and certain and loving that butterflies beat against her ribs. “But I don’t care where we have to go or move to, one day, in some other state or even here, eventually, I’m going to marry the hell out of you.”

Santana’s breath catches somewhere on it’s way out and her soul trembles with the heady weight of the words. They’ve talked about marriage before, in those vague, hopeful ways one does, but never like this, never in unshakable belief that one day, they’re going to make it to the alter together, somewhere. 

Brittany’s eyes are glowing, like there’s a light lit in them, and her smile is so beautiful Santana’s heart aches. “Britt,” Santana breathes, her eyes darting all over Brittany’s face like she’s trying to commit everything to memory (it’s not that hard, Santana’s pretty sure she’ll never ever forget this moment as long as she lives), and it only makes Brittany’s smile grow, “You— I mean—” She sighs and takes a deep breath before catching blue eyes. “I’m going to marry the hell out you one day too,” she finally manages with a slowly growing smile.

If possible, Brittany lights up even more as she leans in to press a soft kiss to Santana’s lips, and Santana is reminded of what Brittany told her, what feels like forever ago, about limits and infinity and forever, because Brittany tastes of all those things right now, in this moment, and Santana’s pretty sure she’ll taste of all those things in the future too, someday.

 

* * *

 

Winter comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the cold air of snow and grey skies of storms that quiet the birds that stayed and makes all of the students in town hold their breath in the hopes of a snow-day, with the courage that comes from knowing for sure that they’re now going to stay with each other for forever instead of running away when they got scared like they used to, with the bittersweet taste of ice in the air chased away by the warmth of sweet kisses breathed into smiling mouths, with promises that are as bright and loving as the eyes that make them, because they have all the Christmases behind them and all the Christmases ahead of them to look forward to.

It’s at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.

 

* * *

 

_“I loved the fact that on most days you looked like a patchwork quilt, guilt-free and warm,_

_You_ _looked like an authority on all things lovely and I’ve always had a thing for_ _a_ _girl_ _in uniform._

_That winter you left me snow-blind._

_Trying to find enough details that would let you know,_

_That even though some people have perfect sight,_

_Those same people could try to paint you by numbers and they still wouldn’t get you right.”_

 

* * *

 

Winter comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s laughter so bright it chases the cold away, smiles and kisses that replace old fears with happiness that makes them forget what they were even scared of in the first place.

 

* * *

 

It’s at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.

 

* * *

 

February comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s long and crisp, the joy of Valentine’s Day celebrated together and without fear for the first time and it’s the unfairness of being told to hide yourself again and it’s spending the day giving each other the sun and the moon and the stars despite it all.

 

* * *

 

January comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s bright and dark, a concept you don’t know the term for or a word you can’t quite define but that still makes you spend time looking in between all the soft moments that assure you that you’re in love even though you might never know why.

 

* * *

 

December comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s white and pretty, waking up to soft kisses and bed-warm skin after nights of mistletoe kisses and singing carols and dreams of a fresh start when the snow covers the town in a pristine white blanket.

 

* * *

 

Winter is a new beginning in every snowfall that promises something fresh in the morning when cold noses and warm hands emerge from that sacred place of dreams.

It’s kisses that taste of hot chocolate and candy canes and promises for the future, where they can feel the unshakeable belief that someday, somewhere, they’re going to make it, pretty and in white, together at the alter.

 

* * *

 

It’s at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.

 

* * *

 

_“Weighing our relationship on scales you balanced us out and always made me feel needed._

_You always asked me what to wear,_

_And I would stare at you as if for a second I wouldn’t answer,_

_Of course, I always did._

_Hid my affections in my response:_

_‘Wear that smile,’ I said,_

_‘That one you wear when you see me,_

_That one you wear to bed.’ ”_

 

* * *

 

_Santana is about seventy-five percent sure she knows what a crush is, and she’s also about seventy-five percent sure she definitely doesn’t have one on her best friend. After all, she’s supposed to have crushes on cute boys, or at least that’s what the other girls in their grade gossip about, and it’s what her papi told her when she asked him about it, discomfort clear on his face (but that was years ago, back when he spent more time at home than at the clinic)._

_Santana’s almost certain she knows what crushes are, and she’s almost certain she doesn’t have one on Brittany, because Brittany isn’t a cute boy, despite being the prettiest person Santana’s ever seen in her entire life._

_But sometimes—_

_Sometimes Brittany smiles at her and her stomach starts to swoop like that time Brittany dragged her onto a roller coaster. And sometimes Brittany will take her hand and Santana’s face will get all warm under her skin like she is staring into an opened oven. And sometimes just sitting beside Brittany makes Santana feel all light and floaty and also like she’s too full of something bright. And there was that one time, after Santana dropped worms in Puck’s lunch after he made fun of Brittany’s spelling test mark, that Brittany kissed her cheek and Santana’s heart had suddenly started pounding so loud she could feel it all throughout all her limbs._

_But that’s normal for best friends who don’t have crushes on each other, Santana’s pretty sure._

_It makes Santana more than a little confused, and more than a little angry that she can’t quite figure out her feelings, and just a little bit scared by it all. Her classmates and her papi and every book she reads and every show and movie she watches all tell her that she’s supposed to have crushes on cute boys or charming princes, which means that whenever she gets that fluttery, light feeling around Brittany, it_ can’t _be a crush._

_(Deep down, when she’s staring up at the ceiling at night and listening to her parents have whispered screaming matches down the hall, she wonders and she imagines and she dreams. She thinks about Brittany and holding hands and kissing cheeks and that fluttering feeling that makes her really feel her heartbeat and reminds her that she’s breathing and alive. She thinks about that and curls into her pillow and holds the stuffie Brittany bought her forever ago close and tries not to hear her papi’s whispered yells and her mami’s too loud silence, and she drifts to sleep with the ghostlike pressure of Brittany’s lips against her cheek.)_

_Santana tries not to let her anger and her confusion and her fear affect Brittany, because that’s not fair, but Santana’s learning that there’s a lot of things that aren’t fair (like the divorce papers she saw on her mami’s dresser last week when she snuck into her parents room looking for something new to play with), and she’s learning that her emotions sometimes feel too big and too threatening and it makes tears gather at the corner of her eyes._

_But sometimes—_

_Sometimes Santana finds it hard, when Brittany is bubbly and laughing and Santana feels a strange sense of shame crawl under her skin in place of the floaty feeling. And sometimes she snaps at Brittany even though she doesn’t want to and it makes her feel even worse than the shame did and they always sit in silence for a while until Santana gruffly but genuinely apologizes. (Brittany always forgives her instantly, even if Santana doesn’t always understand why she does.)_

_Today is one of those_ sometimes _days, one of the days where her papi is watching them and his gaze lingers a little too disapprovingly on Santana and Brittany, and it makes something deep in Santana’s stomach twist and she suddenly wants to move as far away from Brittany as she can, even though she always wants to be close to her. They’re sitting on that tiny window-seat in Santana’s living room, crosslegged with one of Brittany’s knees covering Santana’s, watching the snowflakes fall in the sparkling golden light of the setting sun, welcoming the first day of winter to Lima like they do every year. Today, when Santana sees her papi pause in the living room doorway and frown at the two girls, something deep and dark and shameful in his eyes, she tenses. Today, Santana snaps at Brittany and it’s not out of that strange shame, but it is out of fear for whatever dark, ugly glint in her papi’s eyes. She snaps and Brittany doesn’t look hurt but she gets that strange disappointed look, her eyes are tight and her brows are drawn low. They remain sitting pressed against each other, and it takes barely a minute of awkward silence before Santana feels regret replace the fear in her stomach._

_“Sorry,” Santana mutters, trying not to sound like she means it even though she does._

_“S’okay,” Brittany says easily, and Santana wishes she could hate the knowing look in her eye, but instead she’s just really grateful for it._

_“It’s just—” Santana chokes herself off and searches for the right words._

_It’s only at that moment, when Santana is trying to explain the ugly look in her papi’s eyes, that she realizes what she’s really scared about. It’s something Santana’s been worried about since Hannah and Ally had that fight over Daniel a couple weeks ago; Hannah and Ally had been inseparable since kindergarten (much like Brittany and Santana, which is what worries her), up until Daniel had transferred to their school. That was before the start of December, and now it’s been going on six weeks and they haven’t even looked at each other, let alone talked or had a sleepover. It’s something that she’s absolutely terrified of, something that she’s not sure if she could survive, if Brittany abandoned her, especially if it was for a_ dumb _boy._

_“It’s just—” Santana squints at Brittany, slightly suspiciously. “You promise you won’t go and get a crush on some dumb boy and leave me behind, right?”_

_Brittany rolls her eyes and throws her arm over Santana’s shoulder; Santana tries not to melt into the embrace and only marginally succeeds. “I’d never leave you behind,” Brittany promises easily, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and nothing will ever change that.”_

_“Not even dumb boys,” Santana checks._

_“Especially not dumb boys,” Brittany says firmly._

_Santana finally allows herself to relax against Brittany’s side. “Okay,” she murmurs. She’s suddenly sleepy and a little exhausted, her emotions finally levelling out and she doesn’t even realize that she’s almost dozing off until Brittany nudges her awake._

_Santana blinks her eyes open, unaware she had even closed them, to find Brittany’s hand in front of her face, curled into a fist except for her pinky. Santana frowns a little and glances up at Brittany, heat crawling faintly under her cheeks when bright and determined blue eyes meet hers. “Pinky promise?” Brittany asks._

_Santana blinks again. “Huh?”_

_Brittany’s smile blooms slowly over her face, lighting up her features one by one, and Santana’s suddenly not so sure about that whole_ I-definitely-don’t-have-a-crush-on-Brittany _thing because her heart pounds and something deep under her sternum trembles at the smile on Brittany’s face. “Pinky promise,” she repeats, wiggling her finger, “that we won’t abandon each other for some dumb boy. For forever and until infinity.”_

_Santana grins and glances up at Brittany, quickly lifting her hand to wrap her pinky around Brittany’s. “Pinky promise.”_

 

* * *

 

It’s on the first day of winter that Brittany makes a pinky promise.

It’s on the first day of winter that Santana makes a pinky promise.

 

* * *

 

It’s at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.

It’s at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.

 


End file.
